


Feel This Burning, Love of Mine

by winedark_maverick



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Tender - Freeform, being an adult means you get to write about dead sailors having sex, edward's self deprecating thoughts, let the cold boys feel warm for once, tw: improper use of colons and run-on sentences, two grown men somehow fitting in the same admiralty-issued bunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28278669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winedark_maverick/pseuds/winedark_maverick
Summary: The image of Jopson, laid bare on his sheets, stretched out in a glorious display of angles, freckled skin, pink cockstand, and thighs had haunted Edward’s countless, lonesome nights (selfish hand buried between his thighs, selfish, shuddering gasps pressed into his sheets, the ghost of an image he never thought he’d be able to see plastered all over his selfish, selfish fantasies). But to see it in the flesh, Jove, nothing could compare. Those fantasies—even the most colorful of them—paled in comparison to the real thing.---AKA: Edward was an expert at ignoring the biting cold of the Arctic, but what he couldn't ignore was the warmth radiating from the captain's steward and the blistering heat of desire.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Feel This Burning, Love of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Take Care" by Beach House.
> 
> This is me busting my way into the fandom with some tender smut and many an em dash :)
> 
> Enjoy!

On even the brightest of days, warmth was hard to come by in the Arctic, but in the dead of night—true night and not just the unrelenting dark of winter—any shred of heat needed to be grasped, clung to like a dying man to his meal.

Edward knew this: knew the necessity of keeping warm as the hull of Terror bent and groaned around her noticeably empty bowels. Knew the numbness of his toes would attest to how poorly he had been attending to that task; how trapsing across the frozen, vicious landscape he tried so hard to call home leeched what precious little warmth he had gathered out like the air from his lungs.

Edward had ignored the cold grip of the captain’s pistol as it had been thrust in his hand, and the icy tone demanding he steal whiskey from Fitzjames’ personal stores not long before that. He could ignore cold in all forms: the physical burn of ice, the freezing anguish settling over the minds of his men, the chill of realization. The men still looked to him for orders, now more so than they even knew—resisting the cold (and all that came with it) was an obligation that came with his uniform, with the way his words were responded to with curt nods and a _“Certainly, Sir,”_ or, _“Of course, Lieutenant.”_

But he could not ignore this. He could not ignore the heat beside him, sharp angles crowding against his own, shuddering exhales pressed into secret space between his neck and shoulder. This heat burned in a way that the ice never could. And Edward clutched it… Jesus wept, he clung to it harder than he had ever clung to anything before in his life.

Edward wore no uniform now—that had been deftly removed with expert fingers and draped over the back of his chair—just his shirtsleeves, trousers, and bare, unfettered _want._ Blisteringly hot _need._

“Mr. Jopson,” the name left him carried on the back of a choked sigh. “Please,” he breathed, “you must-”

A hush was pressed into the whiskers lining his jaw, nuzzled there by the source of Edward’s flame as a hand wove its way beneath his top and across the bare skin of his back.

“Sir,” Jopson responded in a whisper, moving his lips to the skin of Edward’s cheek, “as much as I do love to hear your voice, we really must keep quiet.” The words were peppered in between the trail of feather-light kisses Jopson was making towards Edward’s lips.

Mouth met mouth with that brilliant warmth, the noises Edward couldn’t contain being swallowed by his partner. Edward pressed further forward, shifting his weight atop the other man, situating their bodies as well as he could within his cramped bed. Jopson’s hips bucked upwards to meet his own, gyrating as his legs wrapped around Edward’s waist, pulling the two of them flush together. He buried his gasping pleasure in the space just below Jopson’s jaw, hot pleasure running rampant through his shaking frame.

Rocking his hips forward, Edward would have missed the breathy moan were it not for the man’s mouth right next to his ear. As he began pressing open mouthed kissed along the column of the Jopson’s bared neck, the man’s fingers scrambled for purchase across his back, tangling there in the sweaty fabric.

The lengths of their bodies pressed together sent sparks throughout Edward, filling each crack and crevice in him with unbridled heat—the lust and vigor with which it was being met making his head reel. He was so lucky. To not just be seen by such a man, by _Jopson_ , but to be wanted by him? To be desired in the same way Edward desired him despite all of Edward’s fumbled words and awkward stares and-

Good Lord, the angel of a man beneath him should have never even spared him a second glance, but here he was: in his bed, in his arms, knocking on the walls of that thing called Edward’s heart. Christ.

The thought made him cling tighter to the man as he choked on a noise, painful with want and vulnerability. Jopson responded with a deliberate gyration of their groins, tipping his head so that their lips could interlock once more. Wet. Hot. Just a hint of teeth and something that tasted almost like a promise.

The two broke apart with as much as a gasp as they dared, clothed bodies rocking together like the ships would have were they not locked in cursed ice. Jopson brought one of his hands to rest on Edward’s cheek, forcing him to stare into those eyes. (Not that Edward would have ever needed to be forced to look into them. The months that he had spent wishing he had permission to do so still weighted heavily on him. He could lose hours staring into them, trying to memorize each flake of color. They were warm in a way the ice could only dream of being.)

Pleasure swam in them now, Jopson’s dark brows furrowed over them as his mouth hung open in silent gasps. For _him_ , only for Edward. _That’s a dangerous thought_ , a voice deep inside of him responded. But oh, how he prayed that it was true. What he wouldn’t do to be the only one who could see and feel this, to know how warm Jopson’s breath was against his cheek or how tenaciously he met each rock of Edward’s hips.

“Please, Lieutenant,” Jopson panted barely above a whisper, the hand in Edward shirt tightening its grip and the other tucking a lock of hair behind Edward’s ear. “Please… I must feel you inside.”

Oh.

_Be still, my heart._

Edward paused in his movements and could only nod in response—the man had stolen not only his breath and his heart, but his words too. He never would have pegged captain’s steward for a thief, but a skilled one he was.

“Have you any oil?”

“In the drawer,” Edward managed.

A smile began to slowly spread across Jopson’s face, a brow quirking suggestively. “Prepared and expecting, I see?”

“Hopeful, more like,” Edward responded truthfully.

Jopson’s expression shifted into something painfully genuine and soft at the remark, and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss at the corner of Edward’s mouth. He then craned his neck backwards to look over his shoulder, making moves to reach for the oil tucked shyly within the writing desk. Edward’s heart leapt in his chest.

“No, please,” he said before he could stop himself, pressing a chaste kiss against the fair skin of Jopson’s neck for no reason other than he wanted to (and oh, how _blessed_ the opportunity to do so was). “Allow me. Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Jopson.”

Edward was met with a smile he instantly knew he would do anything to see again.

Jopson settled himself against the sheets as Edward leaned over to pull open the drawer and grab the small vial of oil. A soft huff of laughter left him as he watched Jopson place the pillow beneath the small of his back.

“You think of everything. Don’t you, Mr. Jopson?” Edward joked.

“A by-product of the job, Sir,” he responded lightly. “Deft fingers, an overactive mind, and the ability to turn invisible: all necessities in stewardship.”

Edward felt his brow furrow despite the ease with which the words had been spoken. “You’ve never been invisible,” he said, the weight of his voice audible to even himself, “not to me. Never to me.”

That soft, genuine expression returned to Jopson’s features, and Edward’s heart ached with the sight. It was tragic that those sorts of kind words elicited such a reaction in the man. Edward vowed that they would no longer be a rarity in Jopson’s life. He leaned down, sharing that promise with the other man in a deep kiss as he began working on the fastenings of their trousers. Edward felt Jopson doing the same to their shirt buttons.

Once they had been freed, Edward rocked back onto his heels, taking in the sight revealed before him. His heart jumped into his throat, and whatever little blood had been left circulating his body coursed straight to his cock.

The image of Jopson, laid bare on his sheets, stretched out in a glorious display of angles, freckled skin, pink cockstand, and _thighs_ had haunted Edward’s countless, lonesome nights (selfish hand buried between his thighs, selfish, shuddering gasps pressed into his sheets, the ghost of an image he never thought he’d be able to see plastered all over his selfish, selfish fantasies). But to see it in the flesh, Jove, nothing could compare. Those fantasies—even the most colorful of them—paled in comparison to the real thing.

The Jopson beneath him, real, tangible, breathing and smiling and settling between where Edward’s thighs straddled him was more than just a gift. He was every beautiful thing in the world wrapped up into a single gorgeous man. A gorgeous man in his sheets. What saintly deeds could Edward possibly have done to deserve this? Something unbelievable to be sure (even though he was just _Edward_ : a fumbling excuse of both Lieutenant and man) …

Edward was going to cherish this gift, going to cherish Jopson. Worship even; it was what he deserved. He was going to-

“Lieutenant,” Jopson panted, sitting upright suddenly and pushing the shirt from Edward’s shoulders. He then lightly raked his trimmed nails down the length of Edward’s exposed back, leaving a trail of burning desire in their wake. Edward couldn’t help but fall forward, burying his face in the crook of Jopson’s neck as their bodies fell back onto the slim mattress. “Sir,” he breathed, “I need you.”

And oh, Edward’s heart refused to be still. Refused to do anything other than sing and sob and yearn for nothing other than pleasing the man in his arms.

After sufficiently oiling them, Edward dipped his fingers in the space where Jopson’s legs had fallen open as best they could between Edward’s thighs. He circled the rim of muscle there, swallowing the noises spilling from the other man, and after a moment, pressed within. Jopson responded like a dream, gasping and arching his back, taking Edward’s finger with relative ease. He waited momentarily before adding a second, a low keen escaping Jopson as he did so. Edward began the task of working him open, and the world melted away; nothing existed beyond them, their shared breath, and their heat.

“Let me know if I need to slow down, Mr. Jopson,” Edward murmured into the space below Jopson ear. He was met the shake of a head, fingernails digging into his back.

“More, Sir. I need to feel all of you.”

Edward’s blood went white-hot at the words and the desire with which they were spoken. He pressed a groan into Jopson’s skin before slowly pulling his fingers from the man (Jopson’s hips rocking forward to chase their movement) and rising to sit high on his knees. Taking in the sight beneath him, Edward could have wept.

Jopson was beautifully disheveled—his hair a mess against Edward’s sheets—shirt thrown wide open to reveal the spans of his torso, trousers pushed down to his knees. Eyes glimmering with something that mirrored the feelings causing a storm in Edward’s frame. Pink cheeks. Pink cock, slender and standing at attention as it leaked with want. Edward’s mouth went dry; this really was all for him.

Edward pulled himself out from his trousers, reveling in the way Jopson’s eye’s darkened at the sight, the man’s tongue darting out across his smiling lips which he bit as he tilted his head backwards. Edward’s own cock was heavy in his hand as he slicked it, practically thrumming with anticipation. Once properly oiled, he spread Jopson’s legs as far as he could (one of which hooked around Edward’s waist, the other Edward guided to rest against his chest—knee hooking over his shoulder). Edward pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Jopson’s knee, and once he was aligned, rocked himself forward into the man’s heat.

Brilliant. Spellbinding. Like nothing Edward had ever experienced before. Pressing himself into Jopson left him shaking with pleasure, with the desire for more, but he moved slowly, feeling the man’s body open beneath him centimeter by centimeter. If there was anything good left in the world, it was beneath Edward now, twisting and swallowing its moans as Edward buried himself inside. Jopson rocked forward, taking in the rest of Edward’s length in a motion that left both of them gasping, and Edward fell forward, resting his forehead against Jopson’s.

They breathed in each other’s desire, panting against the pleasure. Edward searched Jopson’s hooded gaze, seeking confirmation that it was okay to begin moving.

“May I?” Edward asked, lips brushing against Jopson’s.

“Sir. Please.”

With a grunt, Edward complied. Giving into the desire, the countless nights of suppressed lust, and the long, arduous months of yearning and stolen glances, Edward began rocking their bodies together. Both of Jopson’s legs wrapped securely around his waist now, Edward moved as desperately as he dared lest they make too much noise in the already quiet ship. Each thrust filled him with a blinding pleasure, the way Jopson moved to meet each of them leaving his mind completely numb.

The two of them were panting between open mouth kisses, Jopson’s nails doing a delicious number on Edwards back. Skin against skin, heat against heat, there was nothing else in the universe, and Edward would have set the world aflame if anything tried to take this away from him. This was theirs, and theirs alone. The man beneath him was Edward’s, and _only his_.

Supporting his weight on an elbow by Jopson’s head, Edward reached between their bodies, taking Jopson into his hand. The man threw his head back, arching into the touch, barely covering his moan with a fist. Edward’s hips stuttered in their movement as Jopson clenched around him. He was close. They both were.

“Lieutenant,” Jopson panted, “I’m-”

“Mine,” Edward replied in a desperate whisper and strong pull of the man’s member.

A moan came from beneath him followed by: “Yes. Yes, Sir, one thousand times. Yes.”

Jopson froze, going rigid before coming back to himself, digging his nails into Edward’s shoulders and heels into the small of his back. His mouth found Edward’s forearm, latching on and pressing his muffled cries into the skin there. Jopson’s cock twitched, warmth spilling over Edward’s fingers. His body clenched around Edward, and after only a few more thrusts, Edward’s climax found him too.

It hit like none he had ever experienced before as he choked back the sounds so desperately wanting to rip from him: blinding light and searing pleasure coursing through him all at once and into the man beneath him. The wave began to recede, and Edward removed himself from the man’s body, lowering to Jopson’s chest to rest there as aftershocks of pleasure ran through him. Jopson’s hands found their way back into Edward’s hair, stroking as Edward planted countless kisses to his chest.

Edward knew himself to not be much—a faulty man, a hesitant Lieutenant, someone who kept their head in the (sometimes gloomy) clouds—but here, in the arms of the man he had spent so long sneaking glances at, listening to his heartbeat, taking in the scent and taste of his skin, Edward felt, for the first time in a long while, warm and like he was enough.


End file.
